


Midlife Crisis

by Mistress_Ashley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Anonymous Sex, Bad Sex, Betrayal, Bisexual Male Character, Cheating, Dominance, Drunkenness, F/M, Female Character In Command, Fingerfucking, Het, M/M, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Rough Sex, Slash, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:37:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_Ashley/pseuds/Mistress_Ashley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Potter has a midlife crisis after his lover leaves him. James/Hermione, James/Harry, James/Severus, past James/Fenrir, unseen Fenrir/Sirius</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midlife Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> First off ... Harry Potter and all associated content belong to J. K. Rowling and company. I am making no profit from writing this story. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This came about by one of those stupid character lists on someone’s profile. You know the ones, you make a list with twelve characters and then are asked various questions about two and seven or eight and twelve. I was horribly bored and made up a list of my own. It finally came to the short paragraph where you insert multiple characters and I was inspired.
> 
> Forgive me now for what I’m about to put you through.
> 
> **Story Notes:** Harry _is_ the child of Lily and James but _not_ the Boy-Who-Lived. Lily is still Lily Evans as Harry is merely the product of a one-night stand. The only responsibility James takes is setting up a Gringotts account to help Lily raise Harry. He sees Harry maybe once a year, if that, and certainly not lately. The one-night stand happens before James meets Fenrir Greyback and falls in love. Fenrir _is_ a werewolf, but not one of Voldemort’s men. I think that’s all you really need to know.

James watched through tear blurred eyes as the door slammed shut behind the man he has spent half his life with. He swiped angrily at his eyes as he snuffled. He thought they were happy. Weren’t they happy? The sadness turned to anger. How could Sirius do this to him? His best mate and the love of his life! The anger fled as quickly as it had come and tears consumed him once more.  
  
The movers came the next day, shrinking everything down and carting it out in boxes. Barely anything except the house itself was left. What Fenrir would need their bed for when he was now living with Sirius was anyone’s guess.  
  
A lone pot of Floo powder above the fireplace was tipped on its side, grainy silver powder spilling out over the hearth and dribbling onto the floor.  
  
James moved through the room, skirting around the empty spots that had once held furniture. He came to a stop before the fireplace and looked at the photo beside the tipped over pot. It was a picture taken in happier times and proudly displayed for all visitors to see; it showed a younger him, wild haired and beaming, wrapped in the muscular arms of an equally wild haired man, both in nothing but cut-offs, no robes in sight.  
  
The picture was taken by one of James’s best friends, Remus Lupin, before the young couple’s commitment ceremony before Fenrir’s pack. The werewolf had refused to have a wizard wedding, refused to put on elaborate robes and go through the trails of getting it Ministry approved. Why do it, the man had asked gruffly, when it was just as legal when done before the pack?  
  
The one thing that had swayed James from the image of a picturesque wedding was the talk of how it was more binding. In James’s young mind that meant they would be together forever. Why had he forgotten that werewolves were not really wolves? They didn’t mate for life. Fenrir was something of an oddity for ‘marrying’ James, for living in an actual home, and for staying with him for almost twenty years.  
  
The feeling of betrayal swamped him, and James made his way to the kitchen to rummage through the alcohol cabinet—if there was anything left in there.  
  
 **)()(**  
  
There was indeed alcohol left, lots of alcohol in fact.  
  
James stumbled around the house, thankful now that there was no furniture to get in his way, waving around the half empty bottle of some expensive liquor that he couldn’t remember the name of anymore.  
  
“I’m *hic* pretty. *hic* I’m still young, ya know! I’m, I’m prettier than *hic* Sirius. Younger and, and *hic*  _prettier_ ,” James sobbed. He collapsed to the floor, scooting himself into a corner and wrapping his arms around himself and the bottle now in his lap.  
  
Sirius was older than him, only by a few months but who was counting? That was still older! Sirius did look younger than him though. With barely a wrinkle in sight given how much the man smiled and laughed. His hair, perfectly taken care of, was still long and full. There was no hint of a receding hairline, while James noticed with each year that his own forehead seemed to get larger and higher. Was that what made Fenrir stray? Was it his hair? Or was it the slight pudge he seemed to be gaining around his middle as his life became less active? Did Fenrir just find him unattractive now?  
  
James snuffled around the lip of the bottle at his mouth. Well, he’d prove them wrong. He was still young and hot. He could still have anyone with the snap of his fingers!  
  
Sadly, it wouldn’t be this night. The bottle fell from limp fingers and splattered an unconscious and very rumpled looking James with foul smelling liquid.  
  
 **)()(**  
  
James woke the next night with a headache and a sick stomach. A potion was quick to cure both but left a foul taste in his mouth that combined with both the taste already there and the disgusting smell rising from his body left him nearly running for the bathroom. The only thing that kept him from emptying the contents of his stomach was the potion he had just drunk.  
  
A shower had him feeling, and smelling, much fresher. James also found himself feeling much lighter with a new resolve bright in his eyes. He would show them, both of them and anyone else who might think to doubt him, that James Potter was still a right catch.  
  
An hour later, James had managed to squash himself, with much cursing and rolling on his back, into a pair of pants that he hadn’t thought to touch in over ten years. Still, they fit … somewhat, and the shirt he was wearing was just loose enough to hide any muffin top, but still make him look mysterious and sexy—at least in his opinion. The night to come would tell for sure.  
  
With barely a thought and a moment of disorientation due to apparition, James was soon nestled at the bar of The Three Broomsticks. It wasn’t exactly doing a booming business these days with just two old crones in the back corner giggling like schoolgirls and a few rumpled old men pulled up to the bar nursing Firewhisky.  
  
Any thoughts of leaving for greener pastures were cut short when a rowdy group burst through the door bringing laughter and loud chatter with them. They looked young, probably too young for him, but two of their number carried a banner proclaiming them recent Hogwarts graduates. They were legal and James felt his loins twitch at a few of their number.  
  
Sex was a thing of the past for James. Early in their relationship it seemed that Fenrir couldn’t keep his hands off him. James would be barely through the door before he was tossed over broad shoulders and given a good ravishing in their bedroom or the hallway, the stairs or even the kitchen if they couldn’t make it that far. In the past few years, the most intimate touch James could get was a kiss. If he tried to initiate more all he would get for his troubles was a growl before Fenrir would stomp off with a mutter.  
  
Was he out there fucking Sirius all those times he stormed out? Was he fucking Sirius right this second, maybe on their bed, the one the movers had carted out just days ago?  
  
Anger coursed through him and James tossed the shot of Firewhisky back as he scanned the crowd of youngsters. There was one with dark, wavy hair and the sort of outfit that would have gotten her tossed out of any respectable place. She was tangled around a redhead, practically humping against him like a dog humps your leg, but giving cow eyes at one of the other boys. The redhead was lost in the awe of having a pretty young thing like her wrapped around him and either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he pulled her closer, rubbing what looked to be an impressive lump in the front of his trousers against her.  
  
There was enough drama there without adding to the , so James moved on. His eyes took in an older Asian girl who was giving cow eyes of her own at a dark, messy haired youth. At her age, James had been around the block more than a few times. He knew her sort. She played all coy and innocent, but was more knowledgeable than she let on; she was also likely one of those women who let her partner do all the work in bed.  
  
James almost missed her in his second pass of the room, had surely missed her in the first if he was only catching sight of her now. She wasn’t the prettiest of the bunch and the boys her age certainly wouldn’t know what a gem they were passing over for the flashier girls.  
  
The girl in question was curled in one of the cushier chairs settled in a far off corner, curled around a book with her faintly bushy hair frothing around her. She seemed to hold no interest what-so-ever in the party going on around her and had likely been dragged there and forgotten by a friend.  
  
James was reminded of another graduation party and another forgotten girl. They looked nothing alike, but they had both chosen the same corner and the same old chair. The posture—knees pulled to a not-too-full bust and fingers curled lovingly around a book—that was certainly the same, too.  
  
James let his eyes linger on the swell of her buttocks just visible around the arm of the chair, the long legs that he could just imagine wrapped around him as he slammed himself into her, the long fingers that reminded him of someone else he couldn’t place, but he could just imagine them digging into his back and urging him on. It was always the quite ones that were the fiercest in bed and he would bet his entire vault at Gringotts that she would be a wildcat.  
  
Maybe feeling his eyes on her, the girl glanced up. Brown eyes, fairly plain but with such intelligence shining in them met his before a blush stole over her face and she hid her face behind her book. James watched her sneak glances when she thought he wasn’t looking, taking in his form and his face. Her blush got deeper; her face must be burning hot by now and he wondered how it would feel on the insides of his thighs as she put that plump mouth to good use.  
  
Suddenly her book was gone and she was striding across the floor, straight backed and resolute. James smiled; this little bookworm is much more direct than the other bookworm he remembers.  
  
There is no time for more thought as he is pushed against the bar, hard wood digging into his back, and those plump lips settled over his own. A tongue forced its way past his lips and took possession of his mouth, a hand in his hair dragging him closer to her body. She must only be wearing a thin bra, not like those padded monstrosity of this day and age, because her peaked nipples can be felt dragging across his chest teasingly through both their shirts.  
  
To the cheers of the crowd and the glare of the red-haired boy, James finds himself dragged from the bar and into the back alley. He thinks at first that it’s going to be one of  _those_ encounters, the ones he thinks will be great but end up as nothing more than an aching half hour getting his knees rubbed raw in some dirty back alley, but she surprises him again.  
  
Forcing him to grasp her arm tightly, she Disapparates with him. It’s not something a girl this age should know or even be able to do, but she accomplishes it masterfully bringing them to the front stoop of a small apartment.  
  
Using the hand hold on him from the Apparition, the girl drags him through a sparsely decorated flat to a bedroom that is dominated by a large bed. She leaves him standing in the doorway as she wanders through the room, lighting the candles on the dresser with a flick of her wand, tugging clothing off as she goes. Before long, she is lying in the center of the bed, watching him with hunger eyes, completely nude. There is not a hint of insecurity visible in her eyes now that she is in familiar territory.  
  
“Strip.”  
  
The command is simple; following it isn’t as simple however. James finds himself in a situation he hasn’t been in in many years. He is alone with a woman who he doesn’t even know the name of, in what must be her apartment, and meaningless sex is sure to follow. What if, once he is out of his clothes, she doesn’t like what she sees? What if she kicks him out, maybe nude, for the world to see? Morgana’s tits, what is he doing??  
  
“Strip,” the command is like a whip crack and drags him from his despair and the humiliation that is sure to follow. It is impossible not to obey this command. There is a magic behind those words, not real magic to be sure, but a magic all its own; a magic that has nothing to do with floating feathers or turning matchsticks to needles and everything to do with power and who holds it in a situation like this.  
  
James is so used to following Fenrir, who is an Alpha in his own right and is used to giving commands and having lower wolves obey that it is how he runs his home that James finds himself naked before he can think.  
  
The woman on the bed watches James fidget through her lowered lashes before she crooks a finger at him. It may have been years, but never let it be said that James doesn’t know how to please a woman.  
  
He moves to the bed eagerly and allows her to pull him down atop her. The kiss that follows is just as intense as the one they shared at the bar and before he knows it James finds himself with his head buried between the young woman’s thighs, mouth working at her slick folds. Two fingers of one hand are crooked inside her and the fingers of the other are flicking and squeezing at her clit. The sounds that echo off the barren walls and the taste of her on his tongue are enough to have him hard and ready against the comforter.  
  
James thrusts himself against the comforter. Arousal pools low in his groin and sends sparks shooting through his body. It urges him on and he sucks harshly, pinching at the woman’s clit as he slams fingers furiously inside her.  
  
James can feel her thighs tremble on either side of his head, the silken walls of her pussy clenching around his fingers moments before the woman beneath him tosses her head against the pillows, screeching in climax.  
  
Before the brunette finishes shaking, James is up the bed and forcing his way inside her. His hands grasp her bum, lifting her hips for a better angle before he gives up and clenches his fingers around the backs of her thighs. The move pushes her legs to either side of her chest, nearly bends her in half, but spreads her wide for his view.  
  
James slams himself into her with abandon. He forgets all about Fenrir leaving, about Sirius’s betrayal, and hell, he’s forgotten his own name by this point. Everything is gone but the movement of his hips snapping forward, the harsh sound issuing from the woman’s lips each time he bottoms out within her, and the squelching noise issuing from where they are joined. He focuses on the taste of her on his lips, of just how much of her breast he can force into his mouth.  
  
He is almost gagging as he attempt to force her nipple down his throat, can feel his teeth digging into the sensitive skin of her breast, but he doesn’t care. This is bliss, a taste of heaven before he goes back to the hell that is quickly becoming his life.  
  
It’s just as he imagined in the dimly lit bar. She is a wildcat. She fights him with each thrust, heels kicking at his shoulders as she attempts to meet his already forceful thrusts. Her body is gleaming with sweat, fingernails of one hand digging into his head while the others dig into the wood of her headboard. There are sure to be gouges and broken nails tomorrow, likely cuts and blood on his scalp, but neither feels any pain.  
  
Her voice is like a large cat as she climaxes, urging him to join her in the mating call and James can no more resist its call than men lost at sea can resist the call of a siren.  
  
White bursts in his vision; the flesh of her breast in his mouth muffling his cry and James collapses, panting, to the bed.  
  
Embarrassment, names too, will come in the morning; tonight is for nameless companionship and forgetting.  
  
 **)()(**  
  
James is right; embarrassment does come in the morning, names too. The woman, barely more than a girl, is Hermione Granger. She is a Muggle-born, living in a purely Muggle section of London as she attempts to find employment. It certainly won’t be hard if what she boasts is true, James thinks. A recent graduate of Hogwarts (at least she’s a Gryffindor), graduating top of her class. This too is like a long forgotten woman.  
  
Hermione is half his age and far more ambitious than he ever was. The sex was amazing, but it makes him feel old, like a dirty old man trying to reclaim his youth, and leaves him feeling vaguely cheap.  
  
James tries to extract himself as gracefully as possible but somehow thinks he might have failed. It might have something to do with the way Hermione eyes him and asks if she can see him again.  
  
He leaves with a vague mumble which just reminds him of Fenrir and goes back to his barely furnished house that they once shared together.  
  
James drinks until he forgets who he is and then wanders out, barely managing to keep from being splinched.  
  
He finds himself in the Hog’s Head this time. It’s darker and even dirtier than he remembers from his youth, but it’s just perfect for his state of mind.  
  
He tosses back Firewhisky so quickly that the old bartender threatens to cut him off after the second bottle if he doesn’t slow down. It doesn’t matter; he’s already had more than his fair share. He can’t remember his name, barely remembers where he is, and is having a hard time seeing straight to pick up his drink.  
  
There’s a man next to him who looks like Sirius. It probably is Sirius, come to drag him back to Hogwarts after he’s drunk himself into a stupor. It’s a few weeks until graduation, but with the war going on the graduating class decided to have their party during a Hogsmeade weekend—much safer that way, after all. He remembers a pretty little bookworm snuggled into a corner reading a book during the party. The firelight had played off her red hair like flames and James was enthralled. It had taken a little convincing, but he remembers the wild night that followed. So young and stupid, no protection—Muggle or magical—in sight.  
  
So yes, the man next to him was probably Sirius come to drag him back to Hogwarts to be with the woman carrying his child. He’s too young for this. There’s a war going on outside. She shouldn’t be doing this to him. It wasn’t his fault she didn’t think of protection! It wasn’t his problem. Yeah, that’s right, not his problem. A vault for her at Gringotts, problem solved!  
  
Maybe he has drunk too much. He feels sick, but manages to toss back another shot after he almost knocks it over with a searching hand.  
  
“You alright, mate?” The voice is all wrong, but he’s past thought and caring.  
  
Sirius took something from him, hadn’t he? What had he taken? It was something so very important. His son? No, he didn’t have a son. Well, yes, he did, but he had no rights to the little bugger—signed them all away, hadn’t he? Magically binding and all that.  
  
Hadn’t someone told him Sirius was more important? How could Sirius be more important? What was so great about Sirius?  
  
There are lips on his (or maybe his lips on someone else’s), rough and slightly wind chapped. How had they gotten there? Didn’t matter, did it? He tries and succeeds in not being sick as he is pulled from his seat.  
  
“I’ll be havin’ none a’ that in me bar! Either take it outside or pay and take it upstairs!”  
  
There is a jingle of money and he is jostled around. He leans heavily on his companion as they make their way up a set of stairs.  
  
The door is hard against his back and a second later he nearly collapses as its solid presence disappears from behind him. A short walk and the world turns upside down. He groans as fiery liquor and bile attempts to force its way up his throat.  
  
Lips and harsh hands undressing him distract him from his over consumption. He lies placid and pliable under those hands, barely joining in the kiss. His mind absently notes that there is no long hair to hang like a curtain around his face. Did Sirius have his hair pulled back or was this not Sirius?  
  
James (was that his name?) forces his mind to work and blinks bleary eyes around an even dingier room than the bar below. There is no one above him and no lips on his, there is a breeze over his body that draws a slight shiver from him. He is completely naked. How had that happened?  
  
It doesn’t matter a second later as his cock is sucked into a vacuum. Wet and hot, it sends a different kind of shiver through him. James arches into that touch with a surprised cry.  
  
A glance down shows a head of messy dark hair, black or maybe brown, and the  greenest pair of eyes he can ever remember seeing. Of course, that isn’t saying much at this point given just how intoxicated he is.  
  
Those eyes are hidden a moment later by thick lashes and the head lowers to give him a fantastic, but pathetically short, blowjob. A firmed tongue focusing just below the head and an increase in suction sends him into a roaring orgasm.  
  
James finds himself turned over and entered in what feels like seconds to his inebriated mind. He’s pliant from alcohol and orgasm, and though Fenrir is much larger it has been a while. Thankfully this man has somehow managed to get himself slicked fairly well—silent casting maybe, but it really doesn’t matter at this point.  
  
There is barely a pinch, no more than a painful twinge, before the man settles himself fully. He gives James a bare moment to adjust before he is thrusting. There may be no real pain but there is also no pleasure. The man isn’t trying to bring James to full hardness again and certainly not to another orgasm; he is merely attempting to get his own rock’s off.  
  
The trusting is erratic and forceful, sending James’s limp body forward and backward, the bed shaking with them. It’s too much movement with the amount of alcohol James has consumed.  
  
It sends him scrambling for the end of the bed to empty the contents of his stomach onto the already dirty, sticky floor. The man doesn’t even seem to care, or maybe just doesn’t realize, except for a small grumble at his abrupt movement. The man simply adjusts his thrusts, grasping James’s hips to keep him from tumbling over the edge of the bed, and gives a few nearly painful thrusts before he’s groaning his climax towards the ceiling.  
  
There will be bruises, finger shaped bruises on his hips come morning, maybe even general bruising on his arse from those last few thrusts. The man collapses onto the bed and drags the covers over him. The sound of his snores fill the room along with the clatter of glasses and voices of drunken sods with nothing better to do that drift up from the bar below.  
  
James is left with the smell of his own sick wafting around him and a hollow feeling in his chest.  
  
 **)()(**  
  
“Oh, Merlin’s saggy balls, Mum’s gonna kill me!”  
  
James groans as the whining voice wakes him. He attempts, unsuccessfully, to block the voice out by burying his head in the covers, but they smell rank. Oddly, they also smell familiar. It’s this more than anything that makes him look around. Where could he be that rank sheets smell familiar?  
  
It all comes back to him in a rush and shame burns his cheeks brightly. This is the upstairs rooms of the Hog’s Head, rentable by the hour. He just hopes the guy from last night paid enough for the night; the barkeep charges double if you stay over without paying enough. He knows the smell from the multiple girls, and guys, he brought here during his school days. It’s a horrifying thought that it still smells the same after all this time. Does the old man not know how to clean? Unless he’s a squib, there are simple spells for nearly everything involved in cleaning.  
  
James groans again, dragging himself upright to find the man from last night tugging his clothes on in a hurry.  
  
“Oh, not again.” A new level of shame and disgust surges through him. The man from last night isn’t so much a man as a boy.  
  
It’s nothing more than a furtive glance, but it causes the boy to turn fully around to frown at James. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”  
  
James can practically see the wheels turning in the youth’s head. It’s all readable on his face. It’s a face James would recognize anywhere; at least, when he’s not drunk out of his mind and living in the past.  
  
The face looks nothing like Sirius in the light of day and with a clear head. There’s not enough roughness in the jaw, the nose is all wrong, and the lips are too full and girly to ever pass for Sirius. The nose and those lips belong to his mother, James knows, the eyes too, but those cheekbones, the shape of his jaw, hell, even the hair all belong to him.  
  
The boy searches the room, grabbing his glasses and shoving his feet into his shoes. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but I gotta go.” The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s out the door.  
  
There’s no more thought to how James is familiar to him. Why would there be? He hasn’t seen the boy in two, maybe three years. Lily sends him pictures, letters that he never responds to, to keep him updated. The picture she sent last year doesn’t do the boy justice, looks almost nothing like him. It makes James question, doubt for one gleeful second, that this boy isn’t his son, but that hope doesn’t last. There’s no mistaking a face so like his own.  
  
Disgust fills him once more with a good dose of shame and loathing. What they’ve done isn’t illegal or anything—Pureblood laws and all that. It’s not like in the Muggle world where things like incest are illegal. Incest, it’s a fairly new word for wizards, brought in with the Muggle-born. There are too few Purebloods to keep the lines pure without a bit of inbreeding. There was a good deal of it in the year after the war. So many families wiped out or brought to near extinction. In that year, a pairing between a mother and son or a father and daughter wasn’t uncommon with so few pure of blood to choose from.  
  
Father and son, while not being illegal was still uncommon since no child could come about from such a pairing, but that didn’t stop James from feeling disgusted with himself. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t illegal. The Potters were always very proud that they had never sunk so low as to defile their own children.  
  
James let out a manic laugh. It cut off abruptly and the sobs start.  
  
 **)()(**  
  
The boy (Harry Evans, his traitorous mind pipes up)  _had_ paid for the night. So, it is a simple thing to leave the Hog’s Head.  
  
James walks shamefully through the streets. There aren’t very many people out at this time, give them an hour or so and the streets will be full, but for now they are near bare. Still, he can’t help but think that everyone he passes watches him with accusing eyes, every whisper is about him and what he has done.  
  
He wanders aimlessly before he finds himself at the Shrieking Shack. It is entirely too easy for the ex-prankster to hop the gate and enter.  
  
The inside hasn’t changed. The furniture is a bit more dusty, the floor has a thick covering of dust that his feet leave prints behind. The air swirls with dust motes and the air is hot, but it is comforting. This is where he spent every full moon, at least the beginning of every full moon, during his school days.  
  
James explores the room, fingers brushing over claw marks in fond remembrance. He pulls open one of the cabinets and finds their old collection of liquor bottles and porn. There is a stack of magazines with busty older women that had once belonged to Peter, a stack of clean shaven school girls, all innocence and adoring eyes, that belonged to Remus. Sirius’s stack was likely the oddest of the bunch back then. The worn cover, complete with full movement as is customary in wizarding photos, shows a thin but overly busty woman playing with what at first might look like a dildo buried between her legs but is actually a cock of her own, while a powerfully built man stretches her arsehole wide with his cock.  
  
When alone, James had always sneaked magazines from Sirius’s stack instead of keeping to his own boringly simple porn. Even then, James knew he was different from what his parents expected. His friends hadn’t cared, all having their own peccadilloes, but his parents were very strict in wanting grandchildren.  
  
Well, they had certainly gotten their wish, hadn’t they? Not that they lived long enough to see Harry born.  
  
James digs into the liquor and, not even looking at the labels, carries them through the shack and down the long tunnel that lead him out the Whomping Willow.  
  
He takes a winding path to the Forest, uncapping one of the bottles as he goes and takes a deep swig. It sends flames down his throat and burns his stomach like acid but that is okay. If all goes to plan he won’t be needing his stomach anyway.  
  
The Forest is dark and easy to get lost in once you leave the path. James travels deep into the Forest, weaving on and off the path until the path is no longer there.  
  
The bottle is still in his hands though and that’s all that matters. He takes another swig and lets his worries give way to the tingling emptiness the alcohol leaves behind.  
  
There is a rustle in the bush to his right but James gives no indication he hears anything.  
  
“What are you doing in our forest, wizard?”  
  
James sighed. He knows that voice, or rather the only species in these woods who would ask a question in that tone of voice. It is one of the centaurs. Still, he gives the being no acknowledgment, choosing instead to drain the bottle in his hand and busy himself with opening another.  
  
“Have you a death wish, wizard?” The leaves rustle once more as the centaur steps forward into the light. The centaur is male, definitely male, with wild black hair that matches the black horse’s body.  
  
James gulps down half the liquid in the bottle in one go before answering. “Ya know, I just might.”  
  
Dark hair trails across the centaur’s shoulders as he tosses his head back and gazes up towards the sky. The trees are too thick in this part of the forest for anything to be visible and even if the sky  _could_ be seen the sun is out bright and shiny that day—no stars in sight. “Your path is set, wizard. You will die, but not tonight.”  
  
James snorts in disgust. “Oh, well isn’t that just dandy.” He finishes off the bottle and gives it a toss; it shatters against the bark of a tree, sending shards of glass scattering to the forest floor.  
  
The centaur glares, face contorting into something fierce and frightening. “I pity your mate, wizard.”  
  
Pain flares in his heart at the centaur’s words. “I don’t have a mate anymore; he left me.”  
  
It was an odd thing to see nothing but confusion on a centaur’s face. “I have not seen you around the school.”  
  
Now it is James’s turn to stare in confusion. “What? Why would I be at Hogwarts?”  
  
“For your mate, wizard.” Realization spreads across his face accompanied by a harsh and scornful laugh. “You thought the wolf was your mate. Only a _wizard_ could believe such a thing,” Bane spits out before he turns and canters back through the forest.  
  
His mind fogged with drink, James thinks about the centaur’s words. His mate, his real mate, is in the castle? A mate who won’t leave him? But who?  
  
The school will be empty except for the teachers at this point, and given how dirty he feels after sleeping with the recent graduates it won’t be a student. So, it has to be a teacher. Who is a teacher at Hogwarts right now?  
  
There is Dumbledore, but just the thought sends shivers of disgust through James. McGonagall too is a definite no. Binns is both a bloody hell no and an impossibility given he is a ghost. There is Trelawney, Flitwick, Sprout and Hagrid each with a big no attached, but Sinistra is a hot little number—at least, she was when James was in school over twenty years ago. Unless the centaur was counting Pomfrey, Filch, and Hooch that left only Vector and … Snape.  
  
Vector had come after his time so he isn’t too familiar with her. James is however  _very_ familiar with Severus Snape. Snape with his lank and greasy hair, his large beak of a nose, his long, fine-boned fingers, and his orgasm inducing voice.  
  
James rubs himself through the rough material of his robe, palming his cock as he remembers the low timbre of Snape’s voice. Even as a teenager, that voice was deep, and he finds himself wondering if it has gotten deeper with age.  
  
Just imagining that deep, rolling voice, full of sarcasm and insults, is enough to drag a moan from James. He fists himself faster, arching his hips into the movement and thinks of the way those long, pale fingers would look wrapped around his cock instead of his own fingers.  
  
This thought is enough to send him tumbling over into bliss with a quickly stifled cry.  
  
Maybe it’s time to find out just how well Severus has grown.  
  
 **)()(**  
  
James likes to think of himself as a connoisseur of the secret passages in and out of Hogwarts. He likes to think himself one of the lucky few who has managed to squirrel out most, if not all, of the secrets Hogwarts holds. James knows he and the other Marauders have likely only scratched the surface of the secrets a castle as old as Hogwarts holds, but it’s a nice dream.  
  
So, knowing all the passageways in and out of Hogwarts makes it as easy as breathing to sneak his way into the castle. It’s harder to sneak through the corridors without his trusty invisibility cloak; it makes him exceedingly happy that school is out and he doesn’t have to dodge students as well as staff.  
  
Now he just has to find Severus—or rather, Severus’s rooms.  
  
A Slytherin like Snape will know to keep his little snakes within earshot; can’t have them plotting an uprising, after all. Snape is a master of potions and he would also want his lab nearby in case inspiration hits in the middle of the night.  
  
Well, that just leaves the whole of the dungeons to search. Best get started.  
  
 **)()(**  
  
The rooms are actually much easier to find than James expects. They are labeled. A metal plate attached to the door with ‘Severus Snape’ engraved in an elegant calligraphy.  
  
There is no entrance portrait and no handle. It makes James a slight bit nervous. It means that Snape has set up his own wards. Over twenty years ago, Severus was one of the brightest students. What has the man learned over the years? Does James really think he is up to breaking into the man’s quarters?  
  
If he is going to do this, it needs to be done quickly. With a deep breath, James digs out his wand and starts in on the wards.  
  
It takes James ten minutes to untangle and label all the wards and another twenty-five to make a hole in them that won’t boil his insides when he walks through.  
  
Finally, the door swings open and James takes a cautious step inside. There is no pain or boils so he thinks it is safe to step through the door and close it behind him.  
  
The room he is met with is oddly homey with its wooden floor and light colored walls. The furniture is unexpected, but in a good way. There is no green and silver sofa, only dark leather arms encasing dove gray cushions. There is a dark leather table between couch and love seat placed on a cream colored rug, and the two magical windows overlooking the grounds are framed by deep red curtains.  
  
A painting on the wall makes James tense and wait for an alarm to be raised but the woman gives no indication of seeing him. A closer look shows that it isn’t a magical painting but a rough Muggle style painting. The woman shown is most certainly Snape’s mother or a very close relative. She isn’t the prettiest of women, but there is a captivating intensity in her eyes that make the viewer look closer.  
  
Shaking himself, James travels around the room, touching the little knick-knacks sat on various surfaces. After opening a closet, James finds the door to the bedroom.  
  
Again, James finds himself surprised. The bedroom has the same pale walls as the living room, except for one wall that is taken up by a mosaic of tiles in various shades of dark gray. The floor is a soft, plush carpet in cream; the bed a silver metal with dark gray sheets. Severus’s pale skin must nearly glow against those sheets.  
  
James makes his way forward, shedding clothes as he goes and sprawls nude across the bed. He breathes deeply, taking in the scent of detergent, potions fumes, and something dark and spicy that is purely Severus.  
  
There is a bang as the door to the quarters bursts open. It is only seconds later that the door to the bedroom is flung open with the same fury.  
  
Severus Snape stands framed in the doorway with rage bright in his eyes and his lips thinned so much to be nigh unnoticeable, but his face pales at seeing a naked James Potter lounging on his bed.  
  
“I missed a ward, didn’t I?” James asks calmly. He lets his eyes wander over the robed body. Those baggy, billowing robes do no justice to that body. James wonders how fast he can get the man out of them.  
  
“What. Are. You. Doing?” The rage is back, but there is a hint of panic in that dark voice.  
  
James arches back against the bed with a moan. Oh, that voice is even better with age. It could make him come just from the sound.  
  
The sound echoes through the small room and Severus pales once again. “Get out.”  
  
James crawls down the bed with a lazy smile and lets his feet drop to the floor. He might not be as young and pretty as he once was but he can still turn eyes with his slow, rolling gait.  
  
Severus’s eyes follow the movement of his hips, the sway of his half-hard cock that is getting fuller with every step he takes, and never realizes just how close James is getting.  
  
James wraps a hand around Snape’s head and drags their lips together before the man can react. James puts every technique in his arsenal into play and feels Severus’s jaw tremble before the man falls into the kiss.  
  
It only lasts a moment before Snape pulls back, shoving against James’s chest and forcing James back a step.  
  
“Don’t,” Severus manages to rasp, visibly attempting to regain control of himself.  
  
James steps in closer once again as he asks, “Don’t what?” The kiss lasts longer this time as James forces Snape back against the slightly open door, slamming it closed and trapping both men inside.  
  
Severus swallows deeply, panting as the kiss ends and James sets to work unbuttoning the high collar of his robes, licking and nipping at each bit of exposed skin. “Don’t do this,” James thinks this might be it, game over, that maybe the centaur from the forest is wrong but Snape continues, though in a near whisper, “not if you don’t mean it.”  
  
That cinches it then. James pulls back to look into the dark tunnels of Severus’s eyes. “I mean it.”  
  
James finds himself spun and slammed against the door, Snape’s lips attached to his own. He makes quick work of Severus’s clothes, sending them flying across the room before forcing Snape backwards towards the bed.  
  
Severus tumbles onto the bed, bouncing once before he settles. James is right; his skin really does glow against those sheets, although it might have something to do with the magical night sky, complete with brightly shining moon, that gleams from the window above the bed.  
  
James takes a moment to admire the sight before the rising tension gets to be too much. He slips into the bed, hovering over Severus to continue the kiss.  
  
Severus is a few inches taller than James so it takes a bit of maneuvering before their cocks meet, a few near painful thrusts and there is enough pre-cum for them to glide smoothly against each other.  
  
Snape is surprisingly vocal but attempts to stifle each and every noise with little success. James counts each escaped sound as a small, personal victory and concentrates on wringing them out of the man in a most pleasurable way.  
  
“Stop, stop,” Severus pants out as he forces himself not to come.  
  
James releases Snape’s cock with a wet pop and sits back on his heels to wipe his mouth.  
  
A moment later, James finds himself flipped face first onto the bed with Snape sliding himself against the curve of his back.  
  
“I’m going to fuck you,” is whispered harshly into his ear.  
  
James grins over his shoulder. “You think so, huh?”  
  
“I know so.”  
  
When the man is right, he is right. James gives in as gracefully as possible, lying his head on his crossed arms and arching his arse.  
  
Severus prepares James quickly with his wand, sliding three fingers easily inside to check his spell work. He uses the lubricant on his fingers to slick himself; positioning his cock, he pushes through the thick muscle and slides home.  
  
James groans, pushing back against the intrusion as he pulls his knees under himself.  
  
As soon as he gets himself steadied the fucking begins in earnest. Severus certainly doesn’t go easy, grasping his already bruised hips for leverage and slamming forward.  
  
James buries his face in one of the pillows, but even the pillow can’t muffle his startled cry when a hand connects harshly with his upturned arse.  
  
“That is for calling me Snivellus.”  
  
Another crack rings through the air and James finds himself moaning and arching forward as pleasure and pain mix together. It is quickly followed by a series of slaps that turn his arse a pleasant shade of cherry red.  
  
“And those are for the pranks you pulled all through school.”  
  
A particularly harsh slap sends him tumbling face forward into the pillow with a near sob.  
  
“That is for when you and your little Marauders almost got me killed.” Severus’s voice is dark and forbidding, but his thrusts have gentled from the harsh pounding.  
  
Long fingers rub soothingly over his tortured flesh as Severus tips his hips to just the right angle to brush James’s prostate sending bolts of pleasure through his body.  
  
It is too much and not enough until those long fingers wrap around his cock and from his position James can see the very thing that had helped him get off what felt like hours ago in the forest.  
  
It is so much better in person. His teeth bite into the pillow as climax blackens his vision. James hears Severus give a gasping groan behind him and broken fingernails dig into his hips as Snape hunches over his back with the force of his orgasm.  
  
They collapse to the bed moments later. James is too tired to even move out of the wet spot.  
  
Still, they manage to somehow drag themselves together. James snuggling into Snape more than the other way around, but that is to be expected given the man’s acerbic and stand-offish ways.  
  
They will make it work. It might not be the happily ever after of fairytales, but it is theirs.  
  
Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I’m glad that is over with. 25 pages of size 14 font, that’s over 7500 words and two days worth of writing. I hope someone, somewhere enjoyed my stupidity.
> 
> Ta for now,  
> Mistress
> 
> "(1) and (7) are in a happy relationship until (7) runs off with (4). (1), broken hearted, has a hot one-night stand with (11) and a brief unhappy affair with (12), then follows the wise advice of (5) and finds true love with (3).”
> 
> **James** and **Fenrir** are in a happy relationship until **Fenrir** runs off with **Sirius**. **James** , broken hearted, has a hot one-night stand with **Hermione** and a brief unhappy affair with **Harry** , then follows the wise advice of **Bane** and finds true love with **Severus**.


End file.
